


swallow

by hikaie



Series: i lay these eggshells to remember to be careful [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Succubi & Incubi, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens before Derek can make a move to thwart it. In the end, it gives him the chance to spear his claws through the succubus' neck- but not before it's already kissed Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	swallow

**Author's Note:**

> lol so I know the last fic I wrote in this series had the whole 'emotionally-constipated-and-unsure-of-consent-lines-and-boundaries' Derek but I started writing this as a Fuck-or-Die and I mean, Stiles is trans to me and I can't _not_ write him like that and I felt like throwing it into this series. Forgive any continuity errors? Also, if I continue with this series, expect Emilia to show up again. Gotta love them emissaries.
> 
> As per usual, **this fic includes a transgender individual having (in this case, dubiously consensual, but if you read, you'll see it's pretty consensual? fuck or die is complicated) and enthusiastic sex. If you don't like that because you're transphobic you can stop reading now because I will only disregard your comments. If, for any other reason, it makes you uncomfortable on a personal level (being trans or the consent issues), I encourage you also to stop now as well.**
> 
> I tagged this non-con for what I think you'll see are obvious reasons but I feel it's more dubcon. But I wanted to make sure other people felt safe!

Derek grips the steering wheel and glares through the windshield. The night is late, predawn light taunting at the edge of the sky. In the back seat, Stiles makes a muffled groan. Derek flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, checking on his boyfriend.

He’s twisting across the seats, face flushed, eyebrows dipped together and hands gripped tight at his pelvis. Derek can smell it coming off of him in waves; the fever is a sweet, tender scent sneaking in under the heady choke of arousal. He’s still alive, though, so Derek adamantly focuses on the road and not the press of his zipper against his dick.

They passed the Oregon border half an hour ago. The mountains are empty, at least, only the stray car or so illuminating the Camaro in a flood of high beams for a few blinding seconds. Derek takes the curves at the safest high speed manageable. He has to slow it down when he knocks Stiles’ head against the door too many times.

Another three hours in and he pulls off the highway and rubs one out quick and dirty. It’s no trouble at all, not when he’s been hard for half a day and stuck with that stench in his nostrils the entire time. Stiles just makes these pitiful, pained whimpers from the back seat and it makes Derek spill on his fingers, fangs sinking into his palm to muffle his groan. He does little to clean up, instead pulling back onto the highway and rolling down the window to breathe air that’s a little cleaner.

The Washington border comes and goes at roughly a day into their drive. Derek is trying to think about what it’s going to cost to replace the steering wheel he’s practically mangled by this point.

The sharp smell of come hits his nose and he practically rear-ends the Subaru in front of him. He looks frantically into the rearview mirror to see Stiles sobbing ecstatically into the seat, belly pressed down, and hand working in his pants. Derek’s not even sure he’s conscious. He groans, half always-present-anger, half undiluted sexual frustration.

* * *

 

_"What happened?” Scott’s eyes are dirty-red, the kind Derek knows means bloodlust. He flinches under the other Alpha’s stare, an impressive feat he has to admit. They flicker and Derek knows why, swallows down the scent and digs his claws into his still-healing side to anchor himself._

_“It got him, what do you think?” Derek chews out, dips his head back in pain and then turns to look at Stiles again. He’s curled up on the ground, eyes wide, and he stares up at Derek and Scott with a look of utter horror. But there’s a stupid Stiles-ey grin on his face._

_My spell worked!”_

_Christ.” Scott covers his nose and looks away. “Deacon-?”_

_Derek shakes his head furiously. “He doesn’t have the magic we need. He doesn’t deal with succubi.”_

_Scott hisses and his claws twitch against his cheek. “But I know someone else.”_

_"Take him then.”_

_"Scott-”_

_"Derek, he-” Scott ruffles the back of his hair and huffs through his nose. “I’m not stupid, he tells me things.” Derek grits his teeth back at Stiles, but it’s hard to remain angry when Stiles is dirty and reeking of want._

_"Take him.” Scott repeats._

* * *

 

“Derek!” Stiles keens out and Derek tries not to crash the car and kill them both. (It would end his misery, but what would all their struggle for the past day have been for then?)

“We’re going to be there soon, Stiles, I’m _trying_.”

“Derek, please.” He huffs, and their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. Stiles’ face is flushed, and the way he’s got his neck twisted up to look at Derek is tugging the neck of his shirt down and exposing the long, pale stretch of throat beneath. He swallows and Derek tracks it with his eyes, then rips them back to the road.

“I can’t. You have to wait.”

“S’not working, s’not enough.” He sounds like he’s crying and Derek tries to pointedly ignore the wet sounds from behind him.

Derek steals a moment to shove the heel of his palm against his dick, hissing from the weight of it. He tunes out as many of Stiles’ moans as he can for the next five hours.

* * *

 

“This certainly is a pickle.” Emilia pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and peers at Stiles through the open window. Derek stands beside her, arms crossed, face tight. Stiles is emphatically going at it and she’s just _staring_ at him. He has to suppress a growl.

“Can you fix it?”

She makes a face and Derek feels like tearing into something. “Hard to say but, to be honest with you? Probably not.”

“Why not?” He hisses.

“Hey, you know that doesn’t fly with me.” She glares up at him and he sighs, if impatiently. “But, really, it’s not easy with these things. Succubi, you said, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, given the time frame, and um…” She stares inside the truck for a few moments longer and Derek does growl this time. “The venom is too far advanced by now. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

“What do you expect me to do, then? Bring a dead emissary back to his alpha?” _Bring my dead boyfriend back to his Alpha?_ Derek adds mentally.

She shrugs. “You could always do the manual fix.” Derek grits his teeth and tugs on his hair in frustration.

“Fuck!”

* * *

 

The highway looks so bleak now. Stiles is quieter, now, voice hoarse and gone. Derek gives a guilty look at the Motel 6 sign blinking on the side of the highway, but then thinks better. He keeps driving, gets them thirty minutes away and into a bigger town where a Sheraton twinkles its lights at them merrily in the mid-afternoon light.

He has to scoop Stiles up, yank his hands out of his pants and get him to shut up so he can get inside and check in. The hostess gives him a funny look until Stiles mumbles his name and Derek kind of laughs, bumps his forehead into Stiles’ hip on his shoulder and says, “I know honey, we’re almost there.” She smiles when she hands him his room key.

The elevator is blessedly empty and Derek tightens his hand protectively on Stiles when he wiggles and makes a muffled whine into his back. It takes forever to reach their floor, but it’s quiet and beautiful. At least he’ll be able to say he treated his boyfriend to one last comfortable night before it all inevitably falls to shit, or he chickens out and Stiles dies. (Not an option, but he’s not yet past worrying about it.)

Their room opens on a cream-tiled foyer, the bedroom opening beyond a paneled door that’s been left open just-so. Derek makes sure to set Stiles down on the bed carefully before toeing off his shoes. Stiles wastes no time at all, hands snaking into his pants and a relieved sigh escaping him. It goes straight to Derek’s dick.

He touches his hand to Stiles’ inner thigh gently, trying not to startle him. Stiles just arches up into the touch with an appreciative whine. Derek rubs softly and looks up at the younger man. Stiles is staring at him, lips bitten to hell, red and swollen and Derek wants to devour him. “Derek, please.”

He’s tender when he kisses Stiles, mindful of the raw tear of his lips. Stiles moans regardless, shaking like a leaf beneath him. Derek peels his pants off and gently removes Stiles’ hand from between his legs, slides his own hand between his thighs and cups his sex roughly. Stiles moans brokenly and comes just from that; Derek is wise enough to know it’s not the end of it, though.

“Yeah, Derek, please.” He whispers as Derek slips a finger inside him, opens him up at a brutal pace. He’s soaked and Derek muffles a groan into Stiles’ neck. Stiles is nothing if not vocal in bed, and even with his voice hoarse he’s sobbing out pleas just as frequently as usual. Derek works him through six orgasms with his fingers alone, gets him up to three before he accepts that it’s just not going to work.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs against Stiles’ lips as he sits up; he must misinterpret it for the way he takes his fingers out, sobs needily and wiggles his pussy at Derek in a way he must think is enticing. Derek carefully pushes his pants down, strokes himself a few times to alieve the ache and hefts Stiles’ thighs up to his chest. He hiccups on a moan and presses his head back into the pillows as Derek pushes in.

He mouths at Stiles’ thigh, eyes flashing when they meet his boyfriend’s. Stiles moans open-mouthed, arches his hips up in tiny, aborted thrusts to meet Derek’s. He makes a choking sound and comes so hard it makes Derek pause, fangs on the edge of his teeth and sheets ripping easily under his fingers.

“Again.” Stiles gasps, works his hips up weakly and reaches out for Derek.

Derek places one hand on the small of Stiles’ back, the other holding his thigh tight and rolls them over, gets Stiles in his lap and works his hips down onto his dick. Stiles voice rises into a reedy whine that undulates with the thrusts of Derek’s hips. Derek sits back against the sheets a bit more, settles in and raises a hand to cup Stiles’ cheek. He leans into it, mouth falling slack and sharp gasps punching out of him.

He rests his other hand low on Stiles’ pelvis, digs the heel of it in and dips his thumb down to circle his clit. The way Stiles shouts his name gets him so close he shivers from holding it back.

“Again, Derek, please it’s so much please it’s not enough.” His boyfriend babbles. He scratches down Derek’s chest and Derek groans, sitting up and taking Stiles’ hips in hand and tugging him down roughly with every upward thrust. His pulse flutters rapidly under Derek’s lips; his neck tastes like safety and want. Derek pulls him down hard and moans softly into his neck.

“Yeah, yes, _Derek_.” Derek hisses and makes an embarrassingly squeal-y moan when Stiles works his hips on his oversensitive dick in an effort to come.

“Stiles-” His dick feels hot and he can feel the dizzying stretch of it and every time Stiles’ walls flutter around his knot it feels like he’s having another orgasm. Stiles rubs hard at his clit until he comes with a wail.

Derek rubs his hands absently up and down his boyfriend’s back, soothing until he comes down from his… God, Derek lost track of what orgasm they were on. He does his best to gently slip from him, but the knot makes it more than a little difficult. Stiles whines and reaches for him and he lays him back, curls around him and nuzzles into his neck pointedly.

He doesn’t really remember falling asleep. It’s hard to distinguish between the sleepy post-coital embrace they were in before and the one they’re in now, with Stiles’ hand lazily palming his dick as if they hadn’t just had a sex marathon several hours earlier.

“Mmf.” Derek swats him away and scowls.

“Thanks.” Stiles murmurs into his neck, sucks in a kiss that makes Derek rethink the hand on his dick. And then the shame comes crashing in.

“Are you okay?” Derek leans back, antsily squeezes his thighs.

“Huh? Yeah, a little sore but, fine.” Stiles shrugs and leans up on his elbow. “What’s up big guy? Oh, shit, did you not come after all? I swear I felt you knot but dude I was out of it-”

“No, I… Yeah I came.” Derek scratches his cheek and realizes he’s got about two days’ worth of stubble. “I just, uh…” Derek doesn’t even know where to start. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Uhh.” Stiles replies, intelligently. Derek has to remind himself half the blood in his body is probably still below his waist.

“I… took advantage.” Derek grits out, can’t meet his own boyfriend in the damn eyes while he takes responsibility.

Stiles laughs.

“Dude, if I didn’t want your help I would’ve been fine with my own two hands.” He waggles his fingers in front of Derek’s eyes. (Derek can still smell the come on them and it’s maddening.)

“But-”

“I was on, like, succubus steroids. Or- whatever, you know what I mean. The point is, I was just sexed up, not completely out of it. Trust me, I’m glad it was you.”

Derek turns back over and looks at him. “Are you sure? I still feel… And we drove all this way and I couldn’t _do_ anything.” Derek’s been trying hard at the ‘emoting’ thing and sometimes it works. Not always in the right order, but it works.

“Yeah.” Stiles pins him down and grins really wide. “Now let’s go for round two and then you can order us room service.”


End file.
